


Taste Like Goodbye

by VerdantMoth



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Huddling For Warmth, M/M, Naked Cuddling, Winter, Winter storm, beach, for warmth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 16:48:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16664524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantMoth/pseuds/VerdantMoth
Summary: “Merlin, tell me a story that taste like goodbye.” Arthur says quietly. He’s not sure Merlin can hear him above the roar of the waves





	Taste Like Goodbye

****

“Merlin, tell me a story that taste like goodbye.” Arthur says quietly. He’s not sure Merlin can hear him above the roar of the waves

Winter has come. Revenge billows in his snowy fist, bites at them with each bitter gust. Arthur isn’t sure how far from… anything they are. When they’d left, winter was months away. And then they’d blinked, on a random beach, and the storm came like a child’s cry. Sudden and all at once, no explanation. They’re huddled together, a long way from home, wearing the wrong sort of clothes.

Arthur nudges Merlin. “A story, Merlin. Tell me a story.”

Merlin doesn’t answer. He hasn’t, for quite some time. There’s ice in his lashes and ice on his lips and icicles dripping from the curls on his neck. Arthur huddled closer, rubs his hands against Merlin’s.  Blows his breath breath against his neck.

Winter has come.  Too fast for the boys in their swimming shorts.  _ Unnatural _ , Arthur would say.  _ Just unexpected, _ Merlin is supposed to answer. The last days of warmth snuffed without even a proper farewell, and two boys caught on a rocky beach, bidding the sun adieu. 

Rather rude, to vanish in a breath that way. Arthur huddles closer to Merlin, tries to curl beneath his skin. It’s so cold, the sand cuts like glass. “Here, Merlin. I’ll tell you a story.”

_ Will it taste like goodbye? _

Merlin doesn’t ask, but Arthur says, “No. It’ll just taste a little sad.” Snow screams down from the skies, slices at their skin, obscures any view of what might be their way home. It was supposed to be a simple holliday. A last getaway before reality and adulthood hit. None of their friends had liked it. The weather being so unpredictable these days. But Merlin, with his magic brooding sense, assured them  _ sunny skies for days! _

“The story goes, Merlin,” Arthur pauses, “it’s the story of a hollow boy. A hollow boy who lives by a lake. It was a pretty lake- not a postcard pretty lake. You know, with cattails and sunburst and dainty wooden boats. It was just a pretty little lake on a small plot of land. It had, ah, well, just grass and cicadas around it.” 

He shivers, shucks off his shorts, shucks off Merlin’s. He tries to dig a hole in the sand, but it’s ice and glass and the best he can do is lie close to him. “Anyway, this hollow boy lives beside a pretty lake. He filled himself with this lake. Stuffed green water between his ribs and filled his skull with sand.” 

Their mothers will be searching soon. Arthur estimates they should have been home two days ago. “And this hollow boy beside the lake, filled with sand and water, he searched each and every day. No one was sure what for. Suppose it was something that kept him full. Water and sand don’t stick to bone real well.” The words aren’t sticking to his lips real well, but he supposes it’s the blue. 

“One day this hollow boy with his brittle bones went fishing in a pretty green lake. He went fishing, and wouldn’t you know,” Arthur waits. Waits for the howling to quiet and the shivering to stop and for Merlin to fill in the gap.

“Yes, he caught a man. A golden man in a green lake. It was a bizarre sight for everyone around. But the thing about the golden man was he wasn’t very solid. A bit liquid, but not like the lake. Fluid, but you could still hold him in your hands.” Arthur tries to brush solid hair out of Merlin’s eyes. He lays their swim shorts over his back, buries Merlin beneath him. He blows hot air into his lungs. 

“The golden man needed a place to stay, something to keep him solid. And the hollow boy was very cold, and so very empty. So he pried apart his ribs and he split his bones in half and he made room inside his empty skull.” 

He can hear the sirens in the distant, but he’s so cold and he’s shivering and he can’t even feel Merlin’s skin beneath his. “God, Merls. You’re so much better at stories. But anyway. The golden man from the pretty green lake fit himself inside the hollow boy. They moved about in a strange waltz, a little too loose and a little too liquid. But they were happy there, beside their lake, and they kept each other warm. And when cicadas sang their songs-”

He’s cut off by men with blankets and blue gloves and lips that aren’t purple. He loses track of where they take Merlin, when he’s wrapped in cloth that burns his skin. Air blisters into his lungs and lights blind his eyes and too many voices are speaking to him. Something is beeping. Two things, maybe three. He’s not sure.

_ Finish the story, that taste like goodbye. Make it sound like hello. _

Arthur isn’t sure who he’s talking to when he says. “Anyway, they left their lake once, and it was a rotten idea. So they went back, and the lake welcomed them. The hollow boy was never empty and the golden man was always warm.”

** He sleeps. He sleeps and he’s warm and he can  _ almost _ feel a hand in his. But everything taste like goodbye.  **


End file.
